


The Meek Shall Inherit the Eldest Everdeen

by Meadowlark27



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, In-Panem AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadowlark27/pseuds/Meadowlark27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys all wanted Katniss at the slag heap. But Peeta Mellark just wanted Katniss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meek Shall Inherit the Eldest Everdeen

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday gift for my lovely friend Kari. I hope this is what you were looking for!
> 
> Additional warnings: Katniss goes through a lot here. If you have trouble reading stories that aren't kind to her, this isn't some light reading you'll enjoy, even if it all ends on a positive note.
> 
> Also, shoutout to SFCBruce for being a total stud and pre-reading this for me.

The first time Peeta Mellark saw her, her hair was pleated into two braids instead of one. She was wearing a red dress, one that almost hid the way her flesh stretched too tightly over her bones. His father pointed her out in the school yard, and the moment her name passed through the man’s lips, Peeta wanted to dedicate his entire life to memorizing its shape in his mouth. _Katniss Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen._

 

She didn’t really have friends, and neither did he. It would’ve made sense, then, for him to approach her and make a bid for her company – but even the thought of sustained eye contact made his cheeks blaze. When it came to her, he was a coward. A hopelessly devoted coward.

 

XXX

 

He liked that the other boys didn’t say much about her. That meant he could selfishly keep her all to himself. If they didn’t notice her, then they couldn’t fall in love with her, and they couldn’t be brave for her in the way he’d never be.

 

When he was ten years old, he realized that one day, someone else would realize just how lovely she was. She might’ve not been conventionally attractive – she was outrageously thin and had tight, concentrated features – but her voice was spun from gold and her eyes were plated with silver, and her scowl was revolutionary. She was so powerful, magnetic, and above all, she was _Katniss Everdeen._ And she was his, in some twisted way, because no one else had noticed her imperfect perfection.

 

But then, one day in Grade Six, he heard her name whispered at the table behind him, wedged in the mouths of two older boys in his mathematics class. He honed in on the conversation, his skin prickling at the sound of _Katniss Everdeen_ tossed around in too low of a growl.

 

_She’s got a nice ass, don’t you think?_

 

_Man, she’s twelve. She’s a kid._

 

_Lara Blackwell was only thirteen, and you were fine with her—_

 

_Yeah, but she had boobs, you know? ‘Cause she got her period and all that._

 

_That’s what’s so great about Katniss Everdeen, though. You know she hasn’t, so you don’t have to worry about pulling out._

 

Peeta could lift gargantuan sacks of flour at the bakery, so he would’ve had no problem dislocating the boy’s jaw for a comment like that. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, the image of the older boys shoving her behind the slag heap petrifying him into stillness.

 

In his room that night, he yelled into his pillow, condemning himself for being such a damn coward.

 

His only comfort was that, unlike him, Katniss was fearless. He couldn’t protect her, because he was too pathetic to confront those boys – but she could do that just fine on her own. Her father taught her to use a bow. He trusted that if any Grade Eight boys tried to lay a hand on her, she’d shoot them right through the eye. When Mr. Everdeen had passed away the previous year, she survived, pulling her baby sister and mother through with her. She’d done it all on her own. (And with _the bread_ , but he never mentioned that, because he wasn’t so sure she even remembered him tossing it her way. She didn’t need him, no.)

 

XXX

 

When Clint Fletcher, a wrestling teammate who was three years older than Peeta, mentioned _Katniss Everdeen_ in the locker room, he thought he was about to be sick. Not because the most popular boy in school had noticed her, but because her name was tethered to the term _slag heap._

 

“What do you think I’d have to do to take her there?” Clint joked with another boy, hitting him with his towel.

 

“It wouldn’t be hard,” his teammate laughed. “Just give her some food. Bet the bitch would do anything for a loaf of bread.”

 

XXX

 

Peeta wanted to say something. To them, to her, to authorities, to _someone_. He wanted to sock his cowardice in the face, and then issue the same treatment to Clint Fletcher and the other boys who wanted her like that. Of course, Peeta wanted her as well, but not in the same way – he wanted everything else, too. He wanted _Katniss Everdeen_ , the goddess who’d owned his heart since he was five. They wanted Katniss Everdeen, the biological female.

 

They weren’t good enough for her. Even _he_ wasn’t good enough for her. If he could valiantly defeat her aggressors, and somehow command the sun and the moon, then he’d be worth her while. Until then, he wasn’t enough for her. And the other boys _definitely_ weren’t, either.

 

But then, there was someone else. Gale Hawthorne. He was two years older, stoic and threatening. And good enough for Katniss, Peeta decided, because he could protect her. No, he didn’t seem to worship the ground she walked on, but he was the only person she really talked to, so she must’ve trusted him. Peeta didn’t know if they were dating, but with all the time they spent together, it seemed inevitable.

 

It hurt so badly, but it was also a colossal comfort, knowing she wasn’t being forced to the slag heap.

 

XXX

 

Rye was out too late. His tardiness was a trend, but his mother still wouldn’t stand for it, and sent Peeta out into the dark to fetch him. As if a thirteen-year-old boy had any control over his seventeen-year-old brother’s behavior.

 

He knew just where to find Rye, and who he’d find him with. Peeta’s older brother had been hooking up with Viola Reeves – the butcher’s daughter – for a few months now, and the two were inseparable, both emotionally and physically.

 

It was dark as he staggered through the district, trekking to the slag heap. As he neared, he heard hushed whispers, and he tried to focus in on the pitches, straining to identify one as Rye.

 

Instead, he heard _her_ voice, the voice he’d fallen in love with every day since he was five.

 

“I don’t _want_ to,” she whispered.

 

There was another voice. “C’mon, just this once? It can be quick. I just want to try it.”

 

“Try it with someone else. I—I’m not ready yet.”

 

“I have before, but I really want to do it with you, and I know you’ll like it. I promise, Catnip.”

 

There was a slight rustle, and Peeta heard her hiss out a sharp _Stop_ , which was as far as he’d let it go. He may have been a coward, but he wasn’t completely useless. Too meek to actually pull Gale off Katniss, but committed enough to scare him away, Peeta put his heavy tread to good use, stomping loudly in the dirt. As he neared, the rustling stopped, and he heard the older boy whisper, “Shit.”

 

Giving them enough time to scatter, Peeta dallied around the edge; after a few seconds he rounded the corner, calling out for his brother.

 

“Rye? Hey, are you—”

 

His voice stuck in his throat at the sight of her body crumpled up against the dirt, shoulders trembling slightly in the muggy air.

 

“Katniss?” he whispered. It was the first time he’d ever said her name out loud. He hated that it had to be now, like this.

 

Too humiliated to look up at him, she shoved her face into her knees. “Go away.”

 

“Are you—”

 

“ _Go_ ,” she commanded. And he couldn’t ever defy her.

 

He came home to the bakery without Rye, and was punished with a rolling pin to his temple. But it was worth it, knowing that he’d somehow stopped what he was most afraid of.

 

XXX

 

He thought he’d stopped it. He hadn’t.

 

In reality, he’d just prolonged it. A few days later, Katniss came to school with raspberry-colored bruises claiming her neck, her head hung low as she wallowed through the halls. Gale was at her side, and he tucked her into his hip – too possessively – and although she didn’t pull away, she didn’t lean in, either.

 

Peeta knew exactly what this meant. He threw up in the bathroom, and skipped wrestling practice after school.

 

XXX

 

Peeta Mellark was a coward. He hated his timidity, his inability to stand up for the girl he’d loved since before he knew what love was; he saw her walking with Gale every day, watched her retract into her shell, and did nothing about it.

 

There were more marks on her neck, and eventually, he realized they weren’t accidental. With the way Gale Hawthorne glared at all the other boys who looked in her direction, Peeta understood that this was the older boy’s way of tattooing his ownership of her over her flesh.

 

And he hated him for it. _Katniss Everdeen_ was not someone to be owned. She was a wild thing, beautiful in her mysteriousness, and although Peeta didn’t know much about nature, he knew better than to cage an eagle.

 

How had he trusted Gale to protect her? He knew she didn’t need protection, just respect, yet he’d hoped the Hawthorne boy could guard her anyway. Maybe she’d thought the same, which was why she let her guard down.

 

He wondered how different things would’ve been if he’d spoken to her when he tossed her the bread. Or if he’d slugged one of the boys behind him in mathematics. Or if he’d stood up to Clint Fletcher. Or if he hadn’t fled from her at the slag heap. He could’ve done something, right?

 

He tried to make up for it, now, by bringing an extra cookie in his lunch one day. It was a silly thing for a fourteen-year-old to do, but he didn’t know what else there was to try. So he slipped a second one in his lunch bag. He found her in the cafeteria – alone, because Gale didn’t share their lunch period since he was older – and marched right up to her. Apparently, he could be confident only in the presence of baked goods.

 

She looked at him suspiciously, her hand moving to cup the yellow-and-purple flesh on her neck. “What are you doing?”

 

He offered her the cookie. “Accidentally brought a second one. And you were sitting alone.”

 

It didn’t make much sense, which was clear in the way her expression contorted.

 

But she took his cookie anyway.

 

When he didn’t leave, her shoulders slumped, her face relaxing slightly.

 

“Thank you, Peeta.”

 

It was then that he decided that the only thing more beautiful than the taste of her name on his lips was the sound of his name on hers.

 

XXX

 

They weren’t exactly friends after that, but she’d meet his eyes in the hallway, which was an infinitely better arrangement than what they had before. He took to sitting with her at lunch, since she always sat alone. They didn’t speak much, but after several days, she eventually stopped concealing the flesh on her neck when he was around.

 

He wanted to be brave and mention the bruises, just to see what she’d say, maybe giving him the opportunity to tell her she deserved better, but he was still too afraid. He didn’t want to lose her friendship, and he also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or ashamed.

 

But one day, after several weeks, he finally swallowed his anxiety and asked her, “So… are you with the Hawthorne boy?”

 

A violent red licked its way into her cheeks. He wanted to kiss her blush away.

 

“I guess,” she said.

 

Her hands moved to her neck again.

 

XXX

 

One afternoon, he was making his way home from school when he passed the blacksmith’s shop. Covered in the shadows from the garage’s siding were two figures, intertwined and pulling closer. Caving to his curiosity, Peeta peered through the gloom, and his blood ran cold.

 

The boy was Gale. The girl, judging by the blonde hair, was not Katniss.

 

XXX

 

At lunch the following day, Katniss seemed more distraught than usual. Peeta sat beside her, expecting her to explain, but she pushed out from the table and fled. He followed her into the hall, and then into the custodian’s closet, where she flattened against the wall and whimpered in the dark.

 

“It’s over,” she cried. “He—he said he doesn’t want me. Why doesn’t he want me?”

 

Peeta’s heart wrenched in every direction, because he hadn’t anticipated that this would hurt her. He thought she’d be happy.

 

Yesterday, for the first time in his life, Peeta had shoved his cowardice aside when he saw Gale with the mayor’s daughter. Instead of using a loud approach to scare him away, Peeta had snuck up to the side of the shop. It took every fiber of courage in his body not to back down, but somehow, he’d managed to grit out, _If you don’t let Katniss go, I’ll tell her._

 

Apparently, Gale had chosen the former. Peeta was grateful; Katniss didn’t need to know about his betrayal, because that would break her even more. She just needed to be rid of the older Hawthorne boy. And Peeta thought this would free her – so why was she upset? Gale used and abused her, so shouldn’t she be thankful he was gone?

 

Peeta reached out through the dark, touching her shoulder. He was surprised when she didn’t flinch.

 

“If he doesn’t want you, he’s crazy,” Peeta said.

 

“I’m not good enough.”

 

He knelt down, her heat radiating from her skin and enveloping his. He wanted to hold her, but he knew better than to embrace a bird with a broken wing.

 

“You’re _too_ good, Katniss,” he said. It was all he could say.

 

XXX

 

At wrestling practice a few weeks later, Clint nudged him with his shoulder.

 

“So, you and Everdeen, yeah?”

 

Peeta was one step away from becoming an actual tomato.

 

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re just friends.”

 

Clint’s grin was wolfish, his dark eyes making Peeta’s stomach roil.

 

“Good. Don’t mind if I do.”

 

XXX

 

Katniss was a million times better than Clint, and Peeta trusted that she’d see that.

 

So he felt the earth drop out from under his feet when she mentioned at lunch, “I’m getting together with Clint Fletcher tonight.”

 

XXX

 

It was Clint for two months, and then Nolan Winters for three weeks, then Tanner Leach, and then Brock Olsen. After Gale, Peeta had rejoiced in the notion that the bruises would fade, but soon they were embellished with a collage of new markings, new claims.

 

It made Peeta sick, because the only love Katniss knew was the distorted, depraved form she found at the slag heap. That was the only affection Gale had allowed her, so now, she was blind to all else. And despite what Peeta had said in the custodian’s closet, he knew that she still didn’t believe she was good enough. Nothing he could say would change that.

 

He tried to lift her up when they ate lunch together, but after Clint, Nolan, Tanner, and Brock, she was unable to be moved.

 

XXX

 

She came to his window one night, her throat a collage of love bites and her breath smelling of white liquor. He let her in, and as she stumbled to the foot of his bed, he asked her, “What are you doing here?”

 

“Brock’s done with me,” was all she said.

 

She’d been “seeing” him for three months now.

 

Quietly, as to not wake his parents or brothers, Peeta shut the window. “Good. You’re better than him.”

 

“You’re always saying that,” she slurred. “But if I’m so much better than all them, how come no one better wants me?”

 

The words _I want you_ were stuck in his throat, but he was too shy to say them, too afraid of how she’d respond. So instead, he told her, “Maybe they do. They just haven’t told you yet.”

 

“I don’t know why.” She scratched her nose, then fell limp against his bed. He carefully scooped her up, centering her on the mattress. Well, shit. She didn’t look like she’d be leaving anytime soon, meaning he’d be sleeping on the rug tonight.

 

“Perhaps they’re just too intimidated by you,” he suggested.

 

“Intimidated? Why would they be intimidated? Apparently, I’m the easiest fuck in the district.”

 

Peeta flinched at that, iron weaving up his muscles. “Who told you that?”

 

She grunted. “Brock. Oh, and Nolan. Clint implied it, too.”

 

“They’re disgusting,” he growled.

 

“ _I’m_ disgusting.”

 

No, no, he wouldn’t stand for that. He dug his knees into his mattress, holding himself up beside her. His hand moved to her arm; he was too afraid to touch her anywhere else.

 

“You’re incredible,” he promised, his voice just a breath. “You’re funny, nice, and beautiful, and not remotely disgusting, alright?”

 

Too drunk to accept his compliment, she just giggled, swatting at the air. “Who do you think I am, Mellark?”

 

“Katniss Everdeen.” _Katniss Everdeen_ , his five-year-old self’s first love, his fifteen-year-old self’s best friend.

 

“Katniss Everdeen, the infamous district whore.”

 

“Stop it,” he choked out, his chest throbbing. “Please.”

 

Her eyes sparkled with their implicit challenge.

 

“Why?”

 

He wanted to tell her, _because I love you,_ and he said, “Because it kills me to see you lying to yourself.”

 

“But I _am_ a whore.”

 

“They use you, Katniss!”

 

“With my consent!”

 

“But it didn’t start out that way, now did it?”

 

She grew rigid, her gaze sobering.

 

He didn’t know how he managed to break through his meekness _now_ , but suddenly, the truth was pouring out, and he couldn’t so much as hope to stop it.

 

“I—I heard you and Gale. That time that—that I found you. He was trying to—and you were—and I heard, and I walked loudly to scare him away, but when I came around the corner, I—I saw you. And you looked **too** _broken_.”

 

She gaped at him like a third arm was sprouting from his forehead. Her jaw hung slack.

 

His limbs gave way under him, and he collapsed beside her on the mattress, burying his head in the pillow next to her hair. Beyond the thick stench of booze, he could smell her. He could smell _Katniss Everdeen_.

 

“Oh,” she whispered.

 

“He never deserved you.”

 

She swallowed hard, leaning closer to him on the pillow. “But Peeta, I—I _let_ him.”

 

“ _I_ let him.” If he’d swallowed his cowardice at the slag heap, maybe he could’ve done something to prevent it. “You should hate me. This happened because I was weak, and too afraid to stand up to him.”

 

“You didn’t owe me anything, though.”

 

“I didn’t _have_ to owe you anything, Katniss. You didn’t deserve to be… to be—”

 

“I deserve everything,” she told him seriously, her silver eyes so close to his, her breath washing over his face.

 

He shook his head, his hand moving to cup her elbow. “You deserve to be loved the right way.”

 

“No one can love me the right way,” she said with a shrug, picking at her nails. “The only people who can love like that couldn’t love me.”

 

“ _I_ love you,” he said before he could stop himself.

 

She stared at him. He stared at her. His heart slowed to nothing in his chest, and he wanted to slam his face into the headboard. He was so dumb. _So dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb_.

 

She blinked at him a few times, and then her figure slumped, fading into the mattress.

 

“Stop,” she groaned.

 

“I don’t think it’s that easy.”

 

“Not as easy as me?” she said with a sickening, self-deprecating grin.

 

He leaned forward, his forehead slanting over hers. “Please, stop saying that.”

 

“You think too highly of me, Mellark.” But her fingers tangled with his anyway, and he swore his blood turned to honey. “You think I’m worth something, for whatever reason.”

 

“It’s because I knew you before you convinced yourself you weren’t,” he said. “We weren’t friends, but… Katniss, I _saw_ you. And I—I loved you.”

 

“Since when?” she snorted, and he would’ve been offended had he not been too busy being absolutely terrified of his own blabbermouth. “Since you saw me at the slag heap? Since…” Her eyes darkened. “Since the bread?

 

“No,” he said, surprised she remembered _the bread._ “Since we were five.”

 

She sobered up completely.

 

Then, she gazed at him for a long while, the silver rings flickering over every inch of his face, studying his features, lips, nose, eyes. The earth seemed to stop spinning as she watched him, looking at him in the way he’d looked at her for ten years now.

 

And then, her hand curled over his hip bone.

 

“Katniss?” he whispered, barely getting her name out before her lips were on his.

 

She tasted like cheap booze, and her lips were sloppy and wet, but it was still the best thing that had ever happened to him. So good, in fact, that he couldn’t bring himself to move. Her fingers lifted to cup his jaw, holding his face to hers as she licked her way into his mouth. It was kind of gross, kissing her when she was drunk, but also magical, because she was _Katniss Everdeen_ , and tasted like alcohol, sugar, and glory, and he didn’t want it to stop.

 

Then, the hand that was on his hip lowered, moving to cup him through his sleep shorts. He was already half-hard, but he stirred at her touch, his erection straining against her palm.

 

“What are you doing?” he hissed against her lips, trying and failing to not buck against her hand.

 

“I’m trying to prove you wrong.” She kissed him harder, her fingers curving around him. Oh god, oh god, oh _god_.

 

“Prove—what?”

 

Her lips were on his neck now, suckling gently, too gently to leave their own mark – she didn’t know how to possess, just to be possessed – but with enough determination that it made his skin shimmer.

 

Her breath fanned over his throat as she exhaled, and she told him, “I’m showing you that I’m not better than this.”

 

Her fingers moved upward, toward the waistband of his shorts, but his own hands were faster. They flattened against her shoulders, pushing her away.

 

“No,” he rasped.

 

She sat up immediately, flyaway hairs hanging all over her sweaty forehead; her eyes were both confused and angry, making his whole body ache.

 

“Katniss, I—I want this, and I want _you_ , but I don’t—I don’t want you like that. Not yet, at least. I want the other parts first.”

 

She frowned. “Other parts?”

 

“First of all, I’m not going to do this if you’re drunk,” he said, “and certainly not if you’re upset. I love—I love _you_ , Katniss. Not the girl at the slag heap, but the girl who sits with me at lunch, and who has the voice of a dove, and who’s—”

 

But she was crawling out of his bed before he could finish, scrambling for the window.

 

He bolted upright. “Katniss?”

 

“I can’t do this,” she told him, her shaky fingers grappling for the window sill. “You can’t want me like that. Not me.”

 

“Wait, please—”

 

“Let me go, Peeta,” she told him as she pried the seal open, ducking out into the night air.

 

She was gone before she could hear him say, “I can’t.”

 

XXX

 

At school the following day, she wasn’t seated at their lunch table. She wasn’t in the custodian’s closet. She wasn’t in the hallway.

 

Instead, he found her curled on the front steps of the school, nibbling at some deer jerky. He lowered himself to the concrete beside her, bracing himself for her inevitable flight, and thus, he was impossibly grateful when she stayed put.

 

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

 

She was still, her eyes stones.

 

“We can’t be friends, Peeta.”

 

If someone were to shove him into the electrical fence that was roped around the district, that’d hurt less than those five words. He felt like he’d just been hit by a train car. He couldn’t breathe.

 

Several moments later, when his lungs decided to work again, he wheezed out a pathetic, “But why?”

 

Her teeth grated into the edge of the jerky before she tugged it back, glaring at her own knees.

 

“You said you wanted me, not the girl at the slag heap. But that—that _is_ me, Peeta.”

 

“It’s not,” he said.

 

“You’re so blind,” she hissed. “You think I’m some goddess. I’m not. I’m a whore who’s fucked up more time than she can count. And you can’t pretend that’s not me, because it’s a part of me, and it’s a part I can’t ignore.”

 

When she stood up and left, he wanted the concrete to give way under his feet, letting the earth swallow him whole.

 

XXX

 

She was wrong, he told himself, over and over. She _was_ a goddess. She _was_ equal parts mighty and lovely. Because she was _Katniss Everdeen_.

 

He didn’t talk to her after that – she’d asked him to stay away, and because he respected her, he had to respect her wishes. But that didn’t mean he could stop crafting the thousands of scenarios in his head, ones where they met, laughed, and loved, hundreds of times over.

 

But there were other boys, now. Never the same one. It was as if she had to prove something to herself, or maybe even to him.

 

He was so lonely. He wanted her, any part of her. He wanted the girl who’d become his best friend, or the girl he’d loved forever. He wanted any part, except the girl at the slag heap, because that wasn’t her.

 

XXX

 

One night, as they were closing the bakery, Rye was scrubbing down the sink when he asked, “Hey, haven’t seen that Everdeen girl around here much.”

 

Peeta gripped the counter.

 

“Yeah, we’re not really friends anymore.”

 

“Why?” Rye asked, turning to him with a slight smirk. “Was the sex bad?”

 

Without thinking, he grabbed one of the spoons and hurtled it at his older brother. But Peeta Mellark was only strong – he didn’t have impeccable aim – so thankfully, he missed.

 

“Jesus, Peeta!”

 

“Why does everyone thinks it’s about sex with her?” he gritted, anger lacing up his arteries.

 

Rye’s brows lifted. “Because that’s what she does.”

 

“She’s _more_ than that!” He tugged at the roots of his curls. “She’s so much more.”

 

“Yes, she may be more,” Rye said, inching forward with caution. “But that’s also a part of her.”

 

“No, it isn’t. She’s better than that.”

 

Rye laid a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were serious.

 

“Peeta, you gotta listen to me. We all know you worship the ground she walks on, and think she’s the sun and the moon all wrapped up in one. Which is cool, alright? But you can’t ignore the part of her that makes mistakes. I know what she’s gotten into, and I know that it isn’t all her fault, but you can’t pretend that side of her doesn’t exist. The Katniss Everdeen you’ve loved since you were five is _not_ the same Katniss Everdeen that you know now. If you want to love her, you’ve got to love who she becomes, and not just the idea of who she used to be.”

 

Peeta felt sick. He slumped against the counter.

 

So, he was a much bigger coward than he thought. He was weak for failing to stand up for her, but _this_ was unforgivable. She was more than her mistakes, yes, but he couldn’t pretend they hadn’t happened – the only way to love Katniss Everdeen _right_ would be to love everything she was, and not just everything she used to be, or everything he _wanted_ her to be.

 

He knew he could love her everything, though. He was done being too cowardly to try.

 

XXX

 

He tried to speak to her at school, to deliver his overdue apology, but she wouldn’t confront him. If he were to come too close, she’d duck into the bathroom, just to get away from him.

 

His chest ached every time he saw her. He _never_ wanted to scare her away, but now, that’s all he seemed to do.

 

After over a week of this had passed, Peeta was afraid he’d never get the opportunity to ask for her forgiveness. It was clear she didn’t want him anymore, and even though it killed him, he couldn’t blame her. He’d pretended he was so much better than the other boys who’d treated her like a trophy, when he’d put her up on such an impossibly high pedestal instead of loving her like a human. He wasn’t as superior as he once thought.

 

With her constant avoidance, he decided to stop trying. If she didn’t want to see him, he couldn’t make her. So he stopped seeking her out in the hallway, refused to look at her as she passed.

 

After three days of this passed, around midnight, there was a knock on his window.

 

“Katniss?” he asked, sliding the pane open. She was perched on the sill, and ducked in the moment he allowed her. Despite the overwhelming haze of déjà vu, he was grateful to find her sober. “What are you doing here? Are you alright?”

 

She palmed her forehead, pacing through the dark of his bedroom. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just—I missed you.”

 

His breath stuck in his throat. His heart throbbed.

 

“I’ve missed you, too.”

 

But she was shaking her head. “I want you to stop, Peeta. I’ll do anything to make you stop.”

 

“You can’t,” he told her honestly. She couldn’t undo the past ten years of his life with the snap of her fingers. She had to know that.

 

“There must be something I can do. I thought—I hoped avoiding you would work. Or telling you that you couldn’t be my friend anymore. Or—I thought if you saw me with—with other—”

 

She was trembling now, and he stepped forward to cup her arms, holding her before him.

 

“I’m going to love you regardless of what you do.” He took a deep breath. “Look, when you said I was blind… you were right. I know what you’ve been mixed up in, but I also know it’s not all your fault, and that it doesn’t define you. It’s… it’s a part of you that I can’t pretend doesn’t exist, but I—I love you anyway, Katniss.”

 

Her eyes were wet as she watched him through the darkness, her lower lip quivering.

 

“You shouldn’t,” she choked out. “I don’t deserve you.”

 

“You deserve better,” he said, thinking, _but I will do the best I can, if you let me._

 

When she flattened her palms against his chest, he was convinced she was about to push him away. But then her fingers dug into the fabric of his t-shirt, fisting at the cotton to pull him closer. Her lips crashed into his, and this time it wasn’t sloppy or laced with the taste of white liquor. It was just Katniss, all Katniss, only Katniss.

 

He felt her nudging him toward the bed, and he complied until the backs of his knees pressed against the wooden frame. He toppled backward, and she fell on top of him, sandwiching him between her tiny figure and the mattress.

 

Her mouth was soft on his, even in its determined insistence. She pulled his lip between her teeth, shivers feathering through his body, and he grasped her hips, pulling her closer. They straightened themselves on the bed, with her straddling his hips, and the feel of her center bearing down on his erection was otherworldly. As she grinded over him, a startled choking sound wedged itself in his throat. He felt her lips pull away, her eyes locking with his as she pressed into him.

 

“I can make you feel nice,” she offered, rocking into him to prove her point. “That’s what I’m good for.”

 

“You’re good for so much more,” he gasped, and he clutched her waist.

 

To contradict him, she sat upright so she could pull of her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he couldn’t help but gaze at her body – her sharp collar, flat belly, small and slightly uneven breasts. She was unbelievably perfect. His hands twitched against her sides. He’d never touched a girl before, and had no idea if her stripping down was an invitation or not; thankfully, she made the decision for him, grabbing his hands and sliding them up her body.

 

She made a little sound when he cupped her breasts, his thumbs experimentally grazing her nipples. She was soft to the touch, her heartbeat pounding underneath her flesh. He worked over her gently, mimicking his routine of kneading bread, only he treated her body with so much more reverence, more precision and care.

 

“I want you to fuck me,” she told him as he felt her, her voice a quiet gasp.

 

He didn’t like the way that word clung to the room, the way it cut against her tongue. He didn’t want to _fuck_ her. She deserved more than to be _fucked._

 

But he didn’t know if she’d appreciate the distinction, so all he said was, “Are you sure?”

 

She nodded, crawling off him to discard her pants. “I want you to see.”

 

He knew what she meant by that – she didn’t have to spell it out. She hoped that this would prove her low worth to him, that perhaps by sleeping with her, he’d stop loving her, because sex hadn’t meant anything with the other guys, so she didn’t think it could mean something with him.

 

This should’ve deterred him. If he were smarter, he would’ve held back. But something lying deep in his bones was whispering, _Maybe you can show her there’s more. Maybe you can show her how much you love her, and give her as much love as she deserves, and maybe, maybe that’ll fix everything._

 

And so he didn’t protest as she pulled at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

 

When they were both stripped down to nothing, he sat up against the headboard, watching her crawl up the bed to him. She kneeled beside his shins, studying him, too, measuring him up while he drank her in.

 

He’d always known Katniss Everdeen was beautiful, but in this form, she reached an entirely new level of magnificence. She was thin, yes, but had gentle lines in the swells of her breasts, the curvature of her hips. There was an innocent flush in her chest and cheeks, one he was sure he mirrored as he looked her over, mesmerized by the glow of her skin, the soft curves, the dark triangle of curls between her thighs, everything.

 

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, reaching out for her. She blinked, somehow stunned by this, her eyes flitting self-consciously to her own body. Had no one ever told her this before?

 

After a few moments, she took his hand and crawled up the length of the bed, her knees falling on either side of his hips. She was hovering just far enough above him that they weren’t touching, but his erection strained eagerly against his stomach anyway. He wanted to feel her, _god_ , he needed her.

 

Then, his stomach twisted. “Katniss, I—I don’t have… anything,” he said awkwardly, his cheeks blazing.

 

She was calm, however, her finger dipping just under his belly button, tracing the light dusting of golden hairs that led downward. “My mother’s been giving me injections,” she said, her voice thick. “For… for everything. I’m clean, and I can’t get—”

 

He didn’t want to watch her struggle any longer, so he cupped her cheeks, moving to kiss her again. He wasn’t confident that he was doing this whole kissing thing right – he was overly hesitant as he drew his tongue along her lips, because her perception of him was such a fragile thing, and he didn’t want to ruin it by full-on slobbering into her mouth – so he was thankful when she took the lead, nipping, licking and sucking. She was a wonderful kisser. As a whole, she was just plain wonderful, too.

 

His lips tore from hers, however, the moment he felt her fingers dip downward, unceremoniously curling around his cock. He choked a little on his own breath, his jaw going slack as she trailed her fingers along the length of his erection, her touch feather-light, yet so overwhelming.

 

“It makes you angry, doesn’t it?” she asked.

 

He could barely focus on her words. “What?”

 

“That you aren’t the first.” She caught his eyes as she stroked him, and he found an expectant glint in the grey. He knew what this meant. She wanted him to be upset with her, or even disappointed. It was just another part of her game to get him to stop caring about her, wasn’t it?

 

But he wouldn’t fall that easily.

 

“No,” he told her, his tone thick with resolve. “It’s too late to change that. If I’m angry about anything, it’s that you were hurt in the first place.” And also, that he didn’t stop it. That he was too much of a coward to even try.

 

Well, he was done being a coward now. He would love her as bravely as he could.

 

Her eyes deepened, her fingers continuing their motions until his head began to spin. But before she could say anything else, his hand lowered from her cheek, tracing a pathway of gentle reverence to the juncture of her thighs. He had no idea what he was doing, but he wanted to try to make her feel good, too, and so he dipped his fingers into her center, startled by how wet she was.

 

She sighed at the feeling of his touch, her jaw straining. “I don’t want to wait any longer,” she said. And then she braced one hand on his shoulder, the other tightening around his length. Tingles shot up his spine at the feel of her grip, but before he could fully melt into the sensation, she was lifting her hips away from his glistening fingertips, her center brushing the head of his cock.

 

“Oh,” he gasped, the feeling somehow too much, and yet not enough. It took everything in him to not give in and thrust upward as he felt her rock slightly, coating him with her wet heat. “ _Oh_.”

 

“Hold onto my hips,” she instructed, and he complied, gripping the soft flesh there as she sank down onto him.

 

Overwhelmed by being buried fully inside her, Peeta Mellark died and came back to life, his head lolling forward and dipping down to her neck. He pressed his lips to her collar, emptying a strangled moan against her skin as his fingernails dug into her hips. She was wrapped so tightly around him in every way, their bodies flush, connected, _united_. He wanted her to never move.

 

That was, until she gripped his shoulder more insistently to pull herself up, sliding back down onto him again, and then he decided he wanted her to never _stop_ moving.

 

“Does this feel good?” she murmured, nipping at his ear lobe as she moved up, down, up and down, drowning him again and again and again. Her body was his physical nirvana, and now that he knew the feel of her, he couldn’t ever go back to earth.

 

“You f-feel—” He had no words. Nothing. How pathetic he was, entirely and happily conquered by her prowess. “Oh my _god_.”

 

“I’m good at this, aren’t I?” she whispered, and he recognized this as another loaded quip. But, for being a fifteen-year-old boy mid-defilement, he was surprisingly in control, and he refused to give in.

 

And so he groaned, “You’re perfect, Katniss.”

 

She faltered for a moment, but regained her composure quickly, picking up her tempo. His heartbeat was a wild staccato against his ribs, his breath snagged and uneven; he could already feel himself building up toward his release, but it was too soon. He wanted this to last with her.

 

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, curling his arms around her torso to hold her more tightly against him. Their eyes met as he did this, hers searching his, and he murmured, “Slow down.”

 

“I—” She seemed so stunned by his request.

 

“This is good.” He tilted his forehead against hers as she rocked against him, his tight grip helping to draw out her movements. “You feel so good.”

 

Every inch of her was glorious, and he wanted to memorize her in her entirety. He met her own motions with gentle thrusts – their rhythm was measured, partly because he wanted to draw this out to prove he wasn’t only interested in a quick fuck, and partly because he knew he wouldn’t survive if she went any faster. It was difficult to hold back, but he reminded himself that this was as much for her as it was for him, if not more. He wanted this to be good for her, too. He needed her to remember, long after this was over, how he’d loved her the right way.

 

“Does this—is it okay for you?” he asked, his palm flattening over her back, feeling the thin sheen of sweat there.

 

“Does it matter?” she panted, and his heart broke. He couldn’t let her think that. So he surged forward, flipping her onto her back in one swift movement, her legs now propped up on the headboard and her eyes wide in shock from the sudden shift.

 

“Of course,” he told her, driving into her as steadily as he could manage, which wasn’t very steadily at all. “Tell me— _oh_ —what feels good.”

 

She seemed to consider this for a few moments, and then as he rocked forward again and again, she grabbed one of the pillows beside his knees, tucking it under her hips to lift them up. It changed the angle slightly, and after one particularly deliberate thrust, she cried out. The sound was musical, its pure tone making his blood swirl, but he had to clamp his hand over her mouth. They needed to be quiet, what with his brother in the next room over, and his parents down the hall. His mother hated him enough, and that was when he wasn’t making love to a girl from the Seam.

 

“Is this alright?” he asked, trying to ward off his quickly-approaching climax. He wanted to make her come first. He wasn’t sure if that was possible – she felt too wonderful, and he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer – but he thought it was worth a shot.

 

She swallowed and nodded as he rocked into her again, again, again; then, her hand left his back and snaked between them, moving to the spot where they were joined. She began touching herself, her fingers curling in deliberate, circular motions. If he was an expert on female anatomy, he would’ve taken over for her, but she knew her body better than he did.

 

He hoped, eventually, that would change. Although, he supposed convincing her for another round in the future would be the first obstacle to overcome.

 

Her walls clenched around him as she threw her head back, whimpering into his hand. He could feel his soul rising, sense his release rapidly nearing, but he had to wait for her. His rhythm was losing its consistency, however; he pulled his hand away from her mouth so that his lips could latch onto her collar, gently tugging at the flesh that pulled over the bone. He refused to leave a mark, however. He didn’t need to assert some pathetic claim over her. That wasn’t what this was about.

 

“Peeta,” she whispered, his name spun with honey as it dipped off her tongue. Her hands moved to his hair, fisting in his curls, and then one clawed over his back. He couldn’t hold off any longer, no matter how hard he tried.

 

“Katniss, I—I’m coming,” he warned, his thrusts wild and jagged as he met her hips one, two, three more times. He felt her fluttering around his cock as she threw her arm over her mouth, muffling her own moan as she came, just before he emptied into her, her skin and soul fusing together with his, so that for the time being, they were only each other’s.

 

Too numbed by ecstasy to move, he lied there for a while, flat over her as he anchored her to the mattress – he would’ve been worried he was making her uncomfortable had she not wound her arms around him, holding him against her. He could feel her unsteady breaths curling against his cheek, and he kissed the column of her throat, gently, just once.

 

When he pulled away from her, he wiped the damp stickiness from his body with the corner of his sheet, and then did the same for her as she remained splayed there, boneless, sapped, and too worn out to move. He watched the way her breasts swelled as her chest rose with each labored breath. Her focus was hazy as she looked up to the ceiling.

 

Peeta slumped on the mattress beside her, studying her profile. Of course, he thought she was incredible any day of the week, so post-sex Katniss – well, post sex- _with-Peeta_ Katniss – was the most exquisite spectacle he’d ever witnessed.

 

He lifted a half-limp arm, tucking her flyaways behind her ears.

 

“If you were trying to get me to hate you, your plan severely backfired,” he said, his voice soft as he stroked her cheek.

 

His chest tightened when her mouth twisted into a grimace, her eyes growing wet. No. Oh no.

 

“Katniss?”

 

With a shaky gulp, she whispered, “I’ve never had sex in a bed before.”

 

That’s all it took to shred his inhibitions. Within seconds, he was winding his arms around her, pulling her into his body. The embrace was sweaty and far too hot, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as she dissolved in his arms, her whole body shaking in the cradle of his.

 

He’d never seen Katniss Everdeen cry before. Despite all the times she’d been taken advantage of, torn apart and used, she’d never allowed herself to be this vulnerable, and Peeta would’ve been so relieved to know she could let her walls down around him, had it not meant she had to fall apart to do so.

 

He stroked her back as she sobbed into his chest, kissing her temple again and again. In the steady descent from his high, he felt so emotionally raw, so charged in his devotion, that he made a pact with himself to always take care of her, _always_ , were she to want his comfort. Nothing was as pure as this, lying sweaty, unclothed and so in synch, together, together, always together. Nothing made him want to love her more.

 

But he knew he shouldn’t tell her this much. She was already frightened, not just by him, but by her situation – he didn’t want to put any more weight on her shoulders. So, instead, he just held her close, waiting for her to speak when she was ready.

 

It took ten minutes, perhaps, for her sobs to die down, for her shaking to melt into slight tremors, and he heard her whisper into his neck, “You didn’t hurt me.”

 

“I’d never hurt you.” It was a big promise, but it was one he knew he could keep.

 

“I deserve to be hurt.”

 

“You deserve to be loved, Katniss. You deserve hugs, sunsets, nose-kisses—”

 

“Why?” she asked, tilting her chin up to fix him with bleary eyes. “What have I ever done to earn that?”

 

He cupped her jaw, swiping his thumb over her cheek.

 

“You’re just _you_ ,” he said, hoping she would understand. “You’re _Katniss Everdeen._ ”

 

“You put me up on this pedestal, Peeta,” she choked out, “and I don’t belong up there. I’ll just disappoint you eventually.”

 

“I’m working on taking you down from that pedestal, but I won’t stop loving you, Katniss. Nothing could make me stop, not even really great, spontaneous sex. If we’re being honest here,” he said with a gentle smile, “I think that only makes me love you more.”

 

“I love you, too,” she told him, and he jolted, floored by her admission. “But I don’t know how. I’m not good at loving people the right way.”

 

He kissed her forehead. “It’s never too late to learn.”

 

Against his palm, her cheek lifted in a soft grin, moisture spilling over from the corner of her eye and grazing his thumb. When he wiped it away, she tiled her chin up another few fractions of an inch, beckoning his lips. Her mouth tasted salty, but it was pliant and patient against his, and he could feel the difference already, and he knew it would all be alright.

 

XXX

 

At school, Katniss proudly held his hand, let him tuck her against his side, and leaned up to accept his nose-kisses. The patchwork of purple bruises faded to a pallid beige, and soon, into nothingness. Peeta felt no need to replace them with marks of his own. He didn’t own her, and her smile, persistent and genuine, was all the proof of their brave love that he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like random conversations or virtual hugs, come find me on Tumblr at the-peeta-pocket.


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